


How Did I Get Here?

by rufus



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-13
Updated: 2008-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufus/pseuds/rufus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob Bryar and Spencer Smith swap bodies. Shenanigans ensue. Originally posted in Puppypiles and Best Friends, a bandom gen community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Did I Get Here?

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Sinsense for beta-reading this monster twice; any remaining mistakes are my own. Title from Talking Heads' _Once in a Lifetime_ , because I am terrible at titles.

Spencer's day started with high-pitched screaming, and went downhill from there. Excessive amounts of pre-show bickering were followed by unnecessary post-show Disney sing-alongs, and when he was finally able to pry his bandmates away from the after-party, the bus got stuck in stop-and-go traffic, which made Spencer want to hurl. Then, when Spencer went to the kitchen to find something to settle his stomach, he discovered that someone had already drunk the last of his ginger ale and eaten the last of his ginger snaps. 

Spencer slammed the cabinet shut and stalked back to his bunk, but lying down in the hot, stuffy darkness just made his stomach worse. He hauled himself up again and headed for the back lounge, where there was more air and a couch long enough for him to sleep on. Naturally, when he opened the door, Ryan and Brendon were sprawled out over the couch, watching something on Brendon's laptop and giggling.

"What's so funny?" Spencer asked.

"We'll show you when you're older," Brendon said. Since Brendon had turned 21 that was his stock answer to any question Spencer asked.

"Yeah," Ryan chimed in, waving something that looked suspiciously like half a ginger-snap in Spencer's direction. "It's a 21 and over video."

Spencer took a moment to passionately hate both of them, then lay down on the floor, one arm over his aching eyes. All Spencer really wanted was some sleep on something that wasn't moving. And to be old enough to legally buy beer, so that he could pour it over Brendon's head.

"Ryan, is it time to put the baby to bed?" Brendon asked, his voice too-bright. Spencer flipped him off with his free hand.

Ryan made a rumbling noise in his throat and moved to sit on the floor next to Spencer.

"I'll sing him a lullaby first," Ryan said, and Spencer punched whatever part of Ryan was nearest. It might have been his thigh.

"Ouch, fucker," Ryan muttered. A hand settled on Spencer's stomach and began moving in slow circles, and Ryan started singing something slow by Tom Petty that Spencer only half-recognized. Two minutes later Spencer fell asleep in the middle of planning his revenge.

**

"Ice packs!" Frank announced from somewhere above him, and Bob felt something heavy and cold settle on one wrist, and then the other.

"Thanks, dude," Bob said, forcing his eyes open a fraction. 

In the dim glow of the lamp on the bedside table, Frank looked hollow-eyed and worn out. _Got home just in time,_ Bob thought, rolling his ankles slowly under the covers.

"Painkillers?" Frank asked around a huge yawn.

"Took 'em already," Bob said shifting his hips a little, trying for a more comfortable position; it didn't work. 

Frank yawned again and rubbed at his eyes, then reached down to set Bob's earbuds into place and flick Bob's iPod on. He mouthed something that looked like _G'night Bob_ , then popped the light off and vanished into the darkness of the hallway. Bob closed his eyes as the roar of _American Idiot_ washed over him, following the beat with his fingers in open defiance of his physical therapist. 

_You have to take better care of yourself_ , she murmured in the back of his mind as sleep came up to claim him. _You aren't twenty anymore, you know._ Bob paused for a moment to flip her the bird, even though the only thing he really missed about being twenty was being able to play whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted and not having to pay for it the next day.

**

Outside, there was a brief silence. Three houses away, an above-ground swimming pool developed a small whirlpool, much to the surprise of the tree-frogs swimming across it. Further south, two antique pianos played the first three bars of _Bat Out of Hell,_ though the noise had stopped by the time the owners came to investigate.

**

Spencer woke slowly, dimly aware that the bus had stopped and that his entire body felt heavy and sore. He was halfway through a resolution to never, ever sleep on the floor of the lounge again when he realized that whatever he was lying on was too soft to be the floor of the bus. And, also, the wall, his curtain and the top bunk seemed to be missing. _Hotel?_ he thought, and frowned; there hadn't been a hotel night on the schedule. Spencer rolled over to wake up whoever was in the next bed over to ask what the fuck had happened – and there was no next bed. 

Spencer was all by himself in a room that looked like a normal bedroom in a normal house. Well, a normal room with a big fucking framed poster for _Nosferatu_ on one of the walls. That was enough to move him from dozing to wide-the-fuck-awake, and when he sat up to look around he realized his wrists were throbbing.

He looked down at his hands, which were not his hands, then closed his eyes briefly and tried again; it didn't work. The strange hands were still there, curled around foreign knees covered in black sweatpants. Further down there were sockless feet planted on unfamiliar carpet. 

"The _fuck?_ " Spencer said, and stood up. The world lurched and spun and he fell back onto the bed, hands out to catch himself without thinking about it. The fall jarred his wrists and it hurt so much Spencer almost screamed.

He moved his hands (that were still not his hands) slowly, until they were resting against his belly, then curled over them, breathing carefully until his stomach settled and the pain had simmered down to a steady burn. When he was pretty sure he wasn't going to die or throw up, Spencer stood up and took one tentative step, then another, until he could reach out and open the door.

The hallway wasn't especially well lit but it wasn't pitch black, either. There were more monster movie posters on the walls -- _Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein_ , two from the _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ \-- as well as some normal looking family pictures full of people Spencer didn't recognize. 

"The fuck?" he repeated, and put a hand on the wall to steady himself. It was cool and solid beneath his fingers, which should have been reassuring, but wasn't.

"Hello?" he called out, raising his voice a little. "Ryan? Jon? Brendon?" He paused, listening hard, but there was no answer. "Is there anyone else here?"

There was some rustling, and then the door next to the _Frankenstein_ poster popped open. Someone who looked an awful lot like Mikey Way walked out, wearing a ratty Smiths t-shirt and pink unicorn-print pajama pants. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut again. When he opened them Mikey Way was still in front of him, peering at him with a sleepy, concerned expression on his face.

"Hi," Spencer managed. Mikey arched an eyebrow. 

Spencer sucked in a breath, then another, and swallowed carefully. Another door opened further down the hall and Ray Toro emerged, wearing an expression that matched Mikey's. He was also – and Spencer had to look twice to be sure – wearing a baby.

"Bob?" Ray said, and Spencer blinked at him. "You okay?"

Spencer looked back down at his hands, at Mikey, then back at Ray. _Bob._ As in, _Bob Bryar?_

"I-," Spencer began, and stopped. They _looked_ real enough, but – _You are an asshole,_ murmured a voice in the back of his mind. _Wake **up,** you moron._ "I'm dreaming? I think?" 

"About what?" a vaguely familiar voice called out from somewhere behind him and Mikey leaned forward and yanked sharply on Spencer's hair.

"Ow, mother _fucker_ ," Spencer gasped, startled, as Mikey crossed his arms over his chest. "What –"

"Well, I guess you're awake now," Ray said, a thread of laughter in his voice, and Spencer swallowed hard against a surge of nausea. 

He could not possibly be awake, because if he was awake he was in Bob Bryar's body, which was impossible. Fingers pushed at his elbow and he raised it automatically, still too stunned to absorb that it was Frank Iero and not Brendon trying to get past him in a narrow hallway. Even the soft brush of fur against his ankle didn't really penetrate the haze of shock.

"There's coffee and food downstairs, if you want some," Frank said, walking under Spencer's arm and moving towards the stairs. 

The dog trailing behind Frank bumped its head against Mikey's knees until Mikey leaned down to scritch it behind the ears. Frank, who was rubbing the baby's back, made a low clucking noise and the dog waddled towards him, wagging its tail. The dog was definitely not Hobo, Boba, Milo or Dylan.

"Did Gerard get my crullers?" Mikey asked, sounding a little sulky, though he was already turning towards the stairs.

"He got six of everything," Ray said, after pulling his phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. "Oh, sorry, 'everything good'."

Mikey growled low in his throat. He shuffled past Ray, pausing to kiss the back of the baby's head before he started down the stairs. 

Spencer closed his eyes, trying to think over the sound blood roaring in his ears. _Right._ If he _was_ dreaming, he was having a very sucky, fucked-up dream that was worse than the one he'd had about Ryan getting kidnapped by aliens. Hopefully it would be over soon, because if he _wasn't_ dreaming, then –

"Bob?" Ray said, from much closer than he had been before. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just - need a shower," Spencer said, trying to buy some time. When he opened his eyes, Ray was giving him a narrow, worried look, and the baby was kicking its legs irritably. "Save me a couple of donuts?"

"Okay," Ray said, not sounding convinced, and headed back down the hall towards the stairs. "There should be towels in the bedroom, I think."

Spencer nodded at him, then waited a full five minutes after hearing the last step creak under Ray's weight to go back into the bedroom, pick up a pillow and scream into it. He waited another ten minutes before he started looking for the shower.

**

Bob woke up to the rumble of a diesel engine and a warm weight settled against his side all the way to his ankles. Puzzled, he opened one eye to investigate and was genuinely surprised to find a person curled against his side. And a brown-haired person, at that, which – what the hell? He opened the other eye to get a better handle on the situation and realized he must have made a noise when the person twitched and looked up at him. 

So, not just a random brown-haired person, but Ryan Ross, whom Bob had met backstage approximately twice, once at the VMA's and once after a show in – Vegas, maybe? Ryan looked half-asleep, irritated and alarmed all at once, and he was definitely not supposed to be in Bob's bunk with him. More importantly, Bob was not supposed to be in Bob's bunk, since he was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep in Frankie's house the night before.

"I got you more ginger snaps," Ryan said. "We couldn't find any Canada Dry, though."

"The fuck are you talking about, ginger snaps?" Bob said, wriggling one arm free of the blankets to rub at his face. He was absolutely sure it was too early for this shit.

Bob's voice came out about half an octave higher than he was used to, which was weird, but what was even more bizarre was that his wrists were a little stiff but not really sore. He squinted at the hand in front of his face, which, on closer inspection, looked like it might have gotten larger in the night. It had also acquired some freckles Bob was pretty sure he hadn't had the last time he checked.

Bob was still pondering that mystery when the bunk curtain slid back and Brendon Urie appeared, holding out a mug of hot coffee. Bob sat the rest of the way up and took it from him, because finding out what the fuck was going on could wait until after caffeine. Possibly even until after his first cigarette.

"Did you guys break down on the turnpike, or something?" Bob asked, frowning at the milk in his coffee, and took a careful sip from the mug.

"Turnpike," Ryan repeated, as if he had never heard the word before.

Bob took another, larger drink of coffee and winced. In addition to the milk, someone had added far too much sugar. Still, coffee was coffee, and – he paused, wakefulness seeping in, and registered that 1) he seemed to be wearing bright yellow t-shirt and skin-tight jeans that pinched in places Bob's pants didn't normally pinch and 2) all of his hair was gone. Well, okay, not all of it – he could feel something on his face and the back of his neck – but definitely most of it. 

"I'm going to kill Frank," he said, setting the mug down and standing up, only half-noticing that he had nearly knocked Brendon over in the process.

"Frank?" Brendon said, mostly to Ryan, who was also wriggling out of the bunk.

"FRANKIE!" Bob roared, or rather, tried to roar. His voice was definitely all wrong.

Actually, now that he was looking around, so was the bus. The bunk curtains were different, and what should have been Gerard's bunk above his was missing an entire tour's worth of sharpie doodles. He took a couple of steps forward and opened the door to the front lounge. Their special tv was gone, and Bob didn't recognize any of the guitars leaning against the couches. 

"Who's Frankie, Spencer?" Ryan asked, and Bob felt narrow fingers curl around his elbow, ragged nails scraping against sensitive skin.

Wait, what? _Spencer?_

Bob paused, maybe swaying a little. He heard another door open behind him and turned his head, expecting to see Gerard, or maybe Ray, coming to explain what had happened. Instead it was Jon Walker, wearing a puzzled expression. Bob stared at the three of them, all peering at him with concern in their eyes, and managed a steadying breath or two. 

"Spence?" Jon said, and Bob turned to look at him. "Are you okay? Were you having a bad dream?"

"Yes," Bob said, because of course that's what was happening. 

He was dreaming. Too much heavy food before bed, or the painkillers were fucking him up, somehow. Or, more likely, goddamned Toro had gotten hold of his iPod again. Any second now the scene was going to change and he was going to be naked on stage, or, like, a dinosaur was going to fly in the window. 

"It's okay, you're awake now," Brendon said, stepping forward and wrapping Bob in a tight hug.

Bob froze, because Brendon felt very warm and very real, and smelled a lot like the bunk of a tour bus and stale beer. Ryan made a huffing noise and tightened his grip on Bob's elbow. It didn't hurt, exactly, it wasn't like Ryan had pinched him, but – Brendon was squeezing Bob's ribs, Ryan was squeezing Bob's elbow, and Bob was still dreaming.

"Was it the one with the bear-sized chinchilla again?" Jon asked, letting his hand drop. Brendon snorted against Bob's breastbone, but didn't loosen his grip. "Or the special edition Nikes with the teeth in the toes?"

"No," Bob said, and brought his hands up to curl around Brendon's shoulders, pushing at him gently until he let go, dislodging Ryan as well in the process.

"Did I get kidnapped by aliens?" Ryan asked, and then his left pocket started buzzing loudly.

"What? No," Bob repeated, trying to pull his head together, trying to think, and then Ryan's pocket buzzed some more, louder and more insistent somehow. 

Ryan pulled a Sidekick out of his pocket and swiveled the screen up, and a sinking feeling settled into Bob's stomach. Weren't ringing phones (or whatever) usually stand-ins for alarms, in dreams? Why hadn't he woken up?

"Want some waffles, Spence?" Jon asked, and Bob just stared at him.

"I'll take that as a yes. Give us ten minutes to find the toaster, okay? Come on, Brendon," Jon said, patting Spencer's arm gently before tugging Brendon away and out the door.

Bob sat down on the edge of the bunk and was quiet for while before he picked up the coffee mug (why had his own subconscious given him milky, horribly over-sweet coffee?) and drank the rest of it in small mouthfuls. Ryan sat down next to him and slumped against his shoulder; Bob could see his frown morphing into a little grin as he typed. It felt weird, like getting French-kissed by a stranger, but after a minute it was comforting. Bob put the coffee cup on the floor and stared at his ( _Spencer's_ ) hands for a while, periodically rolled his wrists around experimentally. Twice he got up and went out to the front lounge to check the sky outside the bus for velociraptors.

None appeared.

Ryan's Sidekick buzzed five or six more times while Ryan was using it, and no matter how many times Bob opened and closed his eyes, both Bob's own bunk and Frankie's guest room stubbornly refused to appear. _Go to the bathroom_ , he told himself a bit later, _that'll do it._

"Back in a minute," he said to Ryan, who hummed an acknowledgement but didn't look up.

Ten minutes later, bladder empty, hands and face washed, Bob was apparently still asleep. He went back to the bunks and found that Ryan had disappeared. Bob could hear the distant rumble of raised voices, though, something about _too much cinnamon_ and _those were my strawberries, goddammit._ It was almost familiar enough to be comforting. 

Bob leaned his head against the wooden bunk divider and wondered, distantly, if he had died in the night. He didn't feel dead, particularly, though it wasn't like he had any idea what "dead" would actually feel like. Though he did suspect it would hurt either more or less. He raised a hand to his face and squinted at it; it looked solid, and hand-like, and when he tapped out the theme to the _Twilight Zone_ on the side of the bunk he could feel a faint tugging in his wrists.

"I'm probably not dead," he said, mostly to reassure himself, and tapped out the theme to the _X-Files_ with the other hand. _Maybe you had a stroke,_ he thought. _Or, like, something freaky happened and now you're in a coma._

"If you are, I get your belt buckles, you promised," Brendon said from the doorway, and Bob almost jumped out of his skin. 

"Sorry," Brendon said, his smile faltering slightly when Bob glared at him. "I was going to tell you Jon made more coffee, if you want some, but – are you okay?"

Brendon shifted forward like another hug might be imminent, and Bob automatically took a step backwards. Brendon's smile slipped even further, and his eyebrows slid into the beginning of an anxious frown. Bob took a quick breath, then another ( _you'd be worried too, if it was one of your boys_ ), and smoothed Spencer's jeans down with his hands.

"I'm fine, sorry, I'm just – long night, you know? I'll come out in a minute, okay?" Bob rubbed at his ( _Spencer's_ ) face, watching Brendon's expression from behind Spencer's fingers.

"Okay." Brendon frown deepened and his shoulders rolled forward briefly. "I'll, um, save you some strawberries, I guess."

Brendon turned and left the bunks, closing the door behind him, and Bob rested his head against the bunks again and sighed. How the hell was he supposed to figure out if he had had a stroke, or slipped into a random coma or – fallen through a wormhole and into Spencer's Smith's body? He closed his eyes and let his fingers wander. He got through _Thank You for the Venom_ one and a half times before it occurred to him that Spencer had to have some sort of phone, or something, somewhere, and maybe using it would translate as a – finger squeeze, or complex brain wave, or whatever. Or maybe he would actually reach his guys.

Bob knelt down on Spencer's bunk and felt around until he located a hard lump under the covers that turned out to be a Sidekick. When he rolled the screen up he was both horrified and grateful to find the device was completely unlocked. Then again, Spencer didn't share a bus with Frank Iero, so maybe he could afford to be careless. Bob considered calling for a moment, then decided against it. If he was simulating brain waves it probably didn't matter what he did, and if he was actually communicating in real time, texting was faster and would result in a lot less pointless arguing. 

Carefully ignoring the Inbox, Bob opened a new message and paused, fingers hovering over the keys. _Ray? Gerard? Brian?_ He briefly considered texting himself, just to see if anyone answered, and then he remembered if all of this was actually happening and there was someone else in his body, they weren't going to know Bob's password, and wouldn't be able to answer anyway. And that was assuming they could find the phone in the first place.

He settled on Gerard, in the end, and tapped out _trapped in Spencer Smith's body, pls send help – Bob p.s. Im not me, don't know who's in there – bware of bdysntchrs. Pps. G yr nt drunk._ He pressed send and watched the screen until he was sure it had gone through, then sent a similar message to Mikey, Frank, and Ray. Brian, he decided, could wait until later. Or possibly never.

After a minute passed with no response, Bob got out of the bunk and made his way towards the door to the front lounge, stretching his fingers absentmindedly. It burned a little, but not much, and Bob allowed himself a full minute of contemplating ways to get access to a drum kit before shutting down that train of thought altogether. 

"Zack says the real coffee and trashy magazines stop is in an hour," Brendon said when Bob stepped out of the bunk area, barely glancing up from the toaster.

Bob made an agreeable noise, then opened and closed a couple of cabinets until he found mugs he was pretty sure someone had washed, half-listening to Ryan and Jon on the couch behind him, talking quietly and humming at each other over their guitars. The bowl of strawberries was between them. Jon strummed a couple of chords thoughtfully and Bob picked up the nearest drumstick-like object (a plastic spoon) and tapped out a reply against the sink without stopping to think.

"That's a little heavy, Spence, don't you think?" Ryan said slowly and Bob abruptly remembered where he was and what was (possibly) happening and dropped the spoon.

That did make Brendon raise his head, but Bob ignored the question in Brendon's eyes in favor of poking at him until he moved enough for Bob to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee. 

"Not that heavy is necessarily bad," Jon said, and strummed a few more chords. "I mean, we could –"

Spencer's Sidekick went off three times in quick succession and Jon fell silent. Bob pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it, his head already starting to spin, then set the mug down on the counter very carefully and rolled the screen up. The first message, a simple _WTF?_ , was from Gerard. The second one, from Mikey, said _will ck for stems_ , the third a _ahahahahahahahaha good one!_ was from Frank. After another minute the phone buzzed again, and there was Ray, with a row of question marks and a jumble of symbols that was probably supposed to be a confused-but-smiling face. 

Bob sagged against the counter, squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to hyperventilate. He had not had a stroke; he was not in a coma. Bob really was in Spencer Smith's body and someone else (Spencer?) was in Bob's body.

"Spencer? What's going on? Did – did someone die?" Ryan said, voice sharp, and then there were cool, bony fingers on Bob's left arm, squeezing just a little too tight.

"No, it's just, I – I'm Bob," Bob said, and opened his eyes.

All three of them were clustered close around him, wearing matching anxious expressions. Brendon had his arms crossed over his chest and was giving Bob a particularly narrow look.

"Bob?" Ryan repeated, and Bob couldn't tell if he was confused or annoyed. 

"Bryar. From My Chemical Romance. Sorry," Bob said, though he wasn't sure if it was actually his fault. "I – it wasn't on purpose."

" _What_ wasn't on purpose?" Brendon asked, reaching one hand out to rest on top of Ryan's fingers on Bob's forearm.

"This – er – trading bodies. With Spencer. I think it's a direct swap, but I don't really know for sure," Bob said, and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.

_I am trapped in Spencer Smith's body,_ Bob repeated to himself, rolling the words around in his mind. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, part of him wanted to sit down on the floor and curl up into a little ball. Another, larger part was glad his to-do list for the day had mostly consisted of "sleep," "laundry," and "watch stupid movies." Really, if there was one upside to the situation, it was that it had happened after the show at the Garden.

"Trading bodies," Jon said slowly, as Ryan's grip on Bob's arm grew tighter. "Like in _Freaky Friday?_ "

"Yes," Bob said, a sudden burst of relief at being understood giving his voice strength. "I went to sleep in my own bunk, and in my own body, and I woke up – here. Like this. I thought I was dreaming, but then I didn't wake up when the phone rang or I had to pee. I tried messaging my guys to tell them there was freaky shit going on, and they – well, they answered like they think they're being pranked – but I'm pretty sure I'm not dreaming. Or in a coma."

They were quiet for a while, absorbing that information, and then Brendon's serious expression morphed into a broad grin and he curled forward, laughing. Jon's expression softened into a smile.

"You scared me, Spencer, you fucker," Ryan said, letting go of Bob's arm in order to punch him in the shoulder.

Bob's hand was raised, moving in to smack Ryan in the head, before he remembered _not your band, not your boys_ and dropped it, clenching and unclenching his fingers against his thigh. Ryan went very still, his eyes wide, though Bob couldn't tell if he was shocked at nearly being hit, or at not being hit at all. Bob took a breath, and then another, painfully aware of the tiny space they were all standing in, and the way his heart was pounding. 

Brendon's giggles trailed off into silence and he rocked up on his toes briefly. A thoughtful yet vaguely alarmed expression moving across his face as his gaze shifted from Ryan to Bob and back again. Behind Brendon, Jon's expression was still loose and amused, but his smile had dimmed. 

Bob was still trying to figure out what else to say to them when Ryan sat back down on the couch and pulled his guitar back into his lap. Jon followed him, shifting the strawberries to the floor and pressing their shoulders together. Brendon rolled up on his toes again and gave Bob a searching look, his head cocked to one side. Just as Bob was starting to think maybe he'd got through, maybe Brendon believed him, Brendon rolled back down and started singing an encouraging song to the toaster. 

"I'm Bob Bryar, from My Chemical Romance," Bob said slowly, looking at each of them. Jesus, they were young. "Ray has your first record, but he's only allowed to play it on his iPod because the way Brendon pronounces caricature in that one song causes Frankie actual physical pain."

Brendon's hands twitched, and he gave Bob a look Bob couldn't decipher. Bob glanced at Jon, saw that his expression was starting to resemble the one that appeared on Ray's face right before he dragged someone into the bus studio for a time out, then took a deep breath and ploughed onwards.

"Also, Gerard was just teasing with that _Die. Slow._ crack, I mean, he felt really bad afterwards. And Ray gave him a hard time, too, something about the syntax wasn't even the same –"

"Dude, are you still drunk from yesterday?" Brendon interrupted, all traces of amusement gone from his face. "Because, seriously - "

"No," Bob said, then realized his hand was automatically scrabbling in his (Spencer's) pocket for a cigarette, and forced himself to be still. 

"He didn't have that much to begin with," Jon said, head cocked to one side, hands flat on his knees. "Spencer, did you – did you take anything from anyone -- any drinks, anything – else?"

"I don't know, is he that much of a dumbass?" Bob asked, genuinely curious. Also, if the kid did anything stupid while he was in Bob's body, Bob was going to beat his ass. 

Jon's eyebrows shot up and Ryan made a strangled noise. Bob glanced at Ryan briefly, noted that his eyes were the size of dinner plates and he had gone sort of pale (paler), then looked back at Jon and Brendon.

"What about – what was the last thing you ate?" Brendon asked, his gaze swinging down to the door to the tiny refrigerator.

"Homemade chicken parmesan, some spaghetti, and a chocolate milkshake from the diner by Frankie's house," Bob said, and drank the rest of his coffee. 

There was a long silence. The waffles emerged from the toaster with a loud _pop!_ and none of them reacted. Bob reached around Brendon and grabbed one gingerly, waving it in the air until it was cool enough to nibble on.

"Oh my god," Ryan murmured, staring at Bob, his fingers tightening around the neck of his guitar. "Spencer, knock it the fuck off right now, seriously."

"I'm Bob," Bob repeated, irritation growing even though he knew Ryan wasn't deliberately being an asshole.

"Okay," Jon said softly. "Could you – give us a minute, Bob?"

"What?" Brendon said, jerking away from the counter, but his mouth snapped shut under the weight of Jon's glare.

Bob wavered for a moment – he wasn't too keen on leaving them alone to decide his fate – and then it occurred to him if he was going to get off the bus for real coffee, he should probably shower and find some clothes that didn't pinch. He nodded at Jon and went back into the bunk area, closing the door firmly behind him.

Half an hour later, Bob digging through the bag he'd found at the end of Spencer's bunk in search of something that wasn't neon, floral or hideously ugly when the door popped open and Brendon walked in. His hair was standing up in several different directions, as if he'd been pulling at it, and Bob felt a brief pang of sympathy.

"You said your guys got back to you," Brendon said, arms crossed over his chest. "Can we – can we see the messages? 

"Yeah, sure," Bob said, and crouched down to pull Spencer's Sidekick out of the other pair of jeans, grateful that he'd been able to find a clean pair of boxers to put on while he looked for something to wear. "Where the fuck are his real clothes?"

"Top bunk, on the right, green bag," Brendon murmured, not looking up from the glowing screen. "Holy shit, you guys –" he paused, raising his head, and Bob arched an eyebrow at him. "Holy _shit._ "

Brendon stared at Bob until Bob arched his other eyebrow, and then he turned and walked back out into the lounge. Bob rubbed his eyes, then turned to investigate the top bunk. Happily, it contained both the green bag and a small collection of hats and sunglasses. Bob extracted a black t-shirt and the cleanest (and largest) pair of jeans he could find from the bag and got dressed. He was weighing the merits of two different pairs of sunglasses when the door popped open again and Ryan appeared, chewing on his lower lip.

"Jon says you can come out now," Ryan said, his voice low, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He took a step forward, and Bob shifted backwards, in case Ryan got any funny ideas about hugging him. "You don't have to if you don't want to, though."

"Be right there," Bob said. Ryan was quiet, his eyes fixed on the floor, until Bob picked up a hat and started walking towards the door.

**

Spencer paused at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. He had come up with a plan in the shower _(1. Get dressed 2. Locate a phone and call Ryan 3. Find out who the hell is in my body 4. Tell whoever it is to get the fuck out so I can go home 5. Possibly have some breakfast)_ but putting it in place had already failed fairly spectacularly. 

Getting dressed had been agonizing; Bob's fingers alternated between throbbing and numb tingling, and Spencer had barely been able to button his jeans or tie his shoes. He was pretty sure his shirt was on backwards and, given that he had been completely unable to brush his hair, that he generally looked like a homeless person. Furthermore, he hadn't been able to find Bob's phone, which had required changing Step 2 to _Tell MCR their drummer is missing, kind of_ and Step 3 to _Hope they don't have me committed_ and renumbering everything else accordingly.

_Come on,_ he told himself. _You can do this. Go in there and tell them what's happened so you can get home._ He took the stairs slowly, fingers curled around the railing, eyes on his feet so he didn't fall. There was laughter coming from what he presumed was the kitchen, so he walked towards it, trying not to trip and kill himself.

"—can't believe you actually _watched_ that shit," the vaguely familiar-looking dark-haired girl sitting next to Mikey was saying as Spencer pushed the door open.

Spencer stared at her for a minute, trying to remember where he knew her from, her name, anything, but it was all a blank. She arched an eyebrow at him and he felt himself flush as he looked away. There were two more girls at the kitchen counter, one dark and one fair, and they both smiled at him when he looked at them.

"Fuck off, I had the flu," Frank said. " _Herbie: Fully Loaded_ is totally allowed when you have the flu."

"It really isn't," Ray said, from the other end of the table, both of his hands over the baby's ears, his phone on the table in front of him. "Also, you can't give me shit about watching _Sky High_ ever again."

"Oh yes he can, because holy shit, Toro – " Gerard began, then trailed off into silence when he noticed Spencer ( _Bob, he thinks you're Bob_ ) standing in the doorway.

Spencer took a breath, and froze as his carefully prepared speech deserted him. He suddenly felt like he was standing in an autograph line, fat and clumsy and fifteen all over again, and this time Ryan wasn't there to whisper catty comments in his ear and make him laugh. He swallowed hard and blinked a couple of times, and reminded himself he was a rockstar now, too.

"Hey, Bob," Mikey said, setting his Sidekick down on the table.

Frankie and Ray both pushed their chairs back and stood up, Ray handing the baby off to the fair-haired girl while Frankie walked around the table. The dark-haired girl at the table leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in a speculative look, and – _Alicia_ , he thought, and then the rest came back. _Guitar tech. Pete's ex girlfriend._ Actually, now that he was paying attention, they were all sort of squinting at him; Mikey also seemed to be fighting a smile. Spencer hunched his shoulders forward, vaguely embarrassed and a little annoyed. It wasn't Spencer's fault Bob's fingers didn't fucking work.

Spencer opened his mouth to say _I'm not Bob_ , but " _Sky High_ is a good movie," came out instead.

"It is not," Frank said, and then there were small, warm hands maneuvering Spencer's arms while a different set of larger hands turned his shirt around. "It's not even allowed for, like, double pneumonia."

"Says the man who watched _Solarbabies_ on purpose," Mikey chimed in, and Gerard looked up from his phone with an expression that was half-amused, half-horrified.

"We were in the middle of South Dakota and it was the only movie at Wal-Mart I hadn't seen four times already," Frank huffed, stretching up to finger-comb Spencer's hair into a semblance of respectability before dropping down to tie his shoes. "Also, like you have room to talk – hold still, Bob, or I'm tying them together – you made us pay money to watch _The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen._ "

"At least it wasn't the _Chronicles of_ goddamned _Narnia_ ," Mikey said, his eyes narrowing.

Frank straightened up, scowling, and Spencer sat down in one of the empty chairs, hoping he wasn't blushing. Frank Iero had just tied Spencer's shoes and Spencer needed a moment to recover from the shock. 

"There are epic battles in that movie," Frank said, arms crossed over his chest.

Mikey opened his mouth, but closed it again when Gerard tapped his phone on the table in a pointed manner and gave Ray a look Spencer couldn't quite read. Ray shrugged one shoulder and turned back towards the counter, while Spencer shifted in his chair and tried to think of a way to tell them he wasn't Bob.

"Okay, so here's the plan," Ray said when he turned back around, sliding a cup of what looked like black iced coffee with a bendy straw in it in front of Spencer. "First we're going to clean the bus, and then Mikey and Alicia are going get pet food while Frank and Bob are at the grocery store. The rest of us are going to tackle laundry."

"Grocery stores," Mikey said, emphasizing the plural, turning to look at Spencer. "Stop n' Shop and Whole Foods, and you will get real bacon and real Doritos."

Spencer took a tentative sip of coffee and almost gagged; it was cold and bitter and utterly vile. Who drank cold coffee with no milk and no sugar? Spencer swallowed carefully, then fumbled for the sugar and dumped in a quarter of the bowl before reaching for an éclair to get the taste out of his mouth. He was halfway through a second one when he noticed they were all watching him kind of intently, wearing expressions that ranged from "impressed" (Alicia) to "vaguely betrayed" (Gerard) none of which made any sense. Maybe the éclairs were Gerard's éclairs?

"Sorry," Spencer muttered, and set the donut down on a nearby napkin. "I—"

"No, it's fine," Gerard said slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, his eyes flicking from Spencer to Mikey to Ray and then back to Spencer again. "Eat what you want, it's just – I thought –"

"The last time you ate an éclair you said the filling tasted like spooge," Mikey cut in, and Spencer almost choked on his own spit. "Which, I'd still like to know who – "

"Whereas the rest of us really are not interested," Ray said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Bob is allowed to –"

"I'm not Bob," Spencer blurted out. "I'm Spencer. Smith. From Panic at the Disco. We – something happened, we – I think we switched bodies."

_At least I hope we did,_ Spencer thought, as it occurred to him that maybe they _hadn't,_ maybe there was some sort of body round-robin going on, and it could be anyone ( _the Butcher, Andy)_ in his body. He only got to worry about that for a heartbeat, though, before Frank started giggling. 

"Yes," Mikey said slowly, his lip twitching as if he wanted to smile. "We know, we got your – Spencer's – messages. It was sweet, dude, you guys totally had Gerard going for a minute there."

"They did not," Gerard said, straightening up.

"Did so," said the dark-haired girl at the counter, her face breaking into a broad smile. The fair-haired one reached out and squeezed Gerard's shoulder, but she was grinning, too.

"Messages?" Spencer repeated, his eyes drifting to Mikey's Sidekick. _Messages._ Bob was in Spencer's body, and moreover, Bob was using his Sidekick.

Spencer took a deep breath, not sure if he was reassured by that development or not. He also wondered what in the world Bob had said to Ryan, Brendon and Jon. _Ryan is going to kill me when I get home,_ he thought, and winced in anticipation of that conversation. Brent disappearing for hours at a time had been awful, but at least he had done it in his own body.

"He was going to call Brian and everything," Mikey continued, clearly warming to his theme.

"Who's Brian?" Spencer asked, a bubble of completely irrational hope rising in his chest, and Frank stopped giggling abruptly. "Did this happen before? Do you already know how to, you know, swap us back? Because I'm supposed to be playing a show tonight."

"Um," Gerard said, and the girls at the counter stopped grinning as Mikey set his cruller down with exaggerated care. "Bob? Could you – knock it off?"

"I am not Bob," Spencer said, and squashed the urge to pull at his – at Bob's – hair. "I'm Spencer. I fell asleep on my bus last night and woke up – here. And I need to get back to my band now."

There was another long silence, which was broken by the buzzing of Mikey's Sidekick.

"Pete," Mikey said when he answered, sounding both amused and annoyed, and Spencer surged to his feet.

"Yes. What? Fuck off, asshole," Mikey said into the phone, but he was smiling. "Yeah, yeah – bite me, motherfucker. What? In the kitchen at Ray's – yes, jackass, okay, okay fine, hold on." 

Spencer started around the table, intent on getting the phone, but Mikey was too fast. He dodged Spencer's hands, flipped Spencer off, snagged the cruller, and ducked into the hall before Spencer could even get near him. When Spencer turned around, everyone in the room was staring at him again.

"I need to talk to Pete," he said, flexing his throbbing fingers. "I have to – I have a show, tonight. I can't – I have to get back to my guys. I do not have time for this shit, seriously."

Spencer stretched his fingers out again, suddenly acutely aware of the dull _thud thud_ of his pulse in a way he hadn't been since the first time Brent missed a show. He closed his eyes and took a breath, than another, willing himself to not flip out. Ryan had probably called Pete, Ryan was probably having a fit, _oh god._ And then there were hands on his arms, squeezing gently.

"Bob." It was Gerard, his voice low and soft. "Bob? Let's go for a walk and talk about this, okay?"

Spencer bit down hard on the inside of his mouth and opened his eyes. Gerard was kind of a lot to deal with, up close; Spencer looked down at the floor and took another breath. A walk; that meant out of the house, away from Pete-on-the-phone, but Spencer knew Pete's number. He could find a phone later and call him. 

"Okay," Spencer said, and let Gerard lead him out of the house. 

 

**

"Do you guys have Halo too?" Bob asked, scooping an XBox handset off the bench in the lounge as he sat down.

Ryan nodded at him, his eyes huge in his face. Bob rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall forward while he rolled the controller around in his hands and strained to hear what Jon and Brendon were talking about up by the front of the bus. He could catch a word here and there ( _Pete_ and _Haley_ and something about _Wilson or Conrad could maybe fill in for tonight_ figured prominently) but mostly they were talking just low enough that Bob couldn't hear anything. 

_Maybe fill in,_ Bob thought, puzzled, and then, almost dropping the controller, _oh shit, they **are** on tour, and they have a show today._ He raised his head and looked at Ryan. He was sitting perfectly still with his hands on his knees, and he looked kind of like Gerard had on the day Mikey had finally left the Paramour. Bob's stomach clenched in sympathy, and he ratcheted his conversational expectations down a notch or two.

"He uses a click-track, right?" Bob asked, not really needing an answer. "Let me practice a little when we get there, I can probably do it, if we can't, like, swap us back beforehand."

Ryan blinked at him, and Bob suppressed a sigh. At least Gerard and Mikey talked now, when they were having meltdowns. This thought reminded Bob that Brendon still had Spencer's Sidekick, which was the only way Bob had to reach his guys. 

"Urie!" he called out, and both Jon and Brendon turned to look at him. "Give me back the 'kick, dude."

Jon and Brendon glanced at each other, then walked over to where Bob was sitting. Bob was only mildly surprised when it was Jon who fished Spencer's Sidekick out of his jeans and handed it over. Bob swiveled it open, scowled at the screen when he saw no one had called, and closed it again. 

"Spencer says he can play tonight," Ryan said quietly. 

Bob, who could see his hands were shaking, decided not to argue with him about names. Brendon and Jon exchanged another look, and Jon half-shrugged, half shook his head. Brendon made a noise in the back of his throat that might could have been relief or agreement and settled down on the floor at Bob's feet. 

"So, we were thinking we should probably, um, call someone," Jon said, his eyes flickering from Bob to Ryan to Brendon then back to Ryan again. 

"Try Ray first," Bob said, and they all turned to look at him. "He's the most likely to be awake this early in the morning after a show. Unless Gerard stayed up to work on the comic."

They all blinked at him that time. Bob was never, ever going to complain about Frank's motormouth ever again. Bob pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and longed for Ray and his bizarre ability to jam common sense into high-strung musicians without hurting them. 

"You probably need to find out who has Spencer before you can swap us back, right?" Bob said, mostly to Jon, as he seemed to be in charge. "If he's with my guys, Ray will be able to, you know - " Bob broke off and waved a hand to cover all of the things Ray might possibly have to do.

Bob was about to add _here, I'll give you his number_ when the bus shuddered to a halt, and the door popped open. The guy who got on was sort of Worm-sized and –shaped and therefore, Bob was willing to bet, did a Worm-kind of job. The other three swiveled to face him, and Bob watched as the newcomer's expression shifted from pleased to alarmed.

"Guys?" he said. Jon unfolded and stood up, hands smoothing down his jeans. 

_I'll buy you a bottle of Scotch when this over, Jon Walker,_ Bob thought, and got to his feet.

"How long do we have?" Bob asked the Worm-like dude, as the others stood up.

"Twenty minutes, but –" the guy began, stepping closer.

"Zack," Brendon said. "We, ah – Spencer – um - "

"Give me your phone, Walker," Bob interrupted, holding a hand out to Jon, who obediently deposited his own phone in it.

Bob popped it open, tapped in Ray's number, pressed the call button, and handed it back.

"Yes? Spencer? Spencer _what?_ " Zack said, looking at Bob, as Jon edged past them and down the steps of the bus.

_In fact I'll buy you two,_ Bob thought at Jon, ignoring Zack in favor of fishing a pair of flip-flops out from under the seat that seemed to be mostly the right size. He stuck a hand in his pocket and was pleased to find money in it – only a couple of dollars, from the feel of it, but that was enough for coffee, though not for cigarettes. Which was fine, he had a feeling that smoking in someone else's body was probably sort of rude.

"Spencer _what?_ " Zack repeated, perhaps slightly louder than necessary.

"He – er – " Brendon started again, flailing his hands, and Bob used the distraction to slip off the bus.

**

As it turned out, what Gerard meant by "let's go for a walk and talk about this" was "let's smoke cigarettes on the front porch and talk about _Star Wars_ ". Strangely, arguing about several things, including the (wholly imaginary, in Spencer's opinion) creepiness of Ewoks made Spencer feel a little less frightened. He couldn't say the same for Gerard, whose eyes got wider and hand gestures got more dangerous and flaily the longer they talked. Spencer was also pretty sure Ryan was going to kill him extra hard for having a conversation with Gerard Way without him.

"Cute, not scary," Spencer repeated, settling down against the porch railing, wondering if Gerard knew where Bob kept his cell phone.

"Teddy bears with spears, all kinds of _wrong_ ," Gerard said kind of weakly. He offered Spencer a cigarette.

"No, thanks," Spencer said, rubbing at his face. There was a headache building behind his eyes that didn't bode well for the rest of the day.

When he looked up again, Gerard's faintly terrified expression had been replaced by one of frank disbelief. Not sure how else to respond, Spencer ventured a smile, and then Gerard announced they were going to Starbucks. Spencer bit his lip, torn between anxiety at the further delay and relief at the prospect of coffee, milky and sweetened the way god intended, then followed him off the porch and down the street.

The store was full when they got there, even though it was still kind of early. Spencer was in line, half reading about fancy coffee beans, half revising his _No really, I'm Spencer, and I need to get back to my band_ speech when he heard it: a muffled gasp, some muttering, and the distinctive _swish-click_ of a camera being removed from a purse.

Gerard, who was a few steps away contemplating a row of mugs, heard it too. Spencer was vaguely surprised at the alarm in Gerard's face when he turned around, though. It was just a couple of old people, and they weren't even really all that close. The girl with the camera was still standing at least three feet away, and everyone else on line looked more half-asleep and irritated than anything else. Spencer sighed heavily and ran a hand through his ( _Bob's_ ) hair, then gave the girl a "hold on" gesture with one hand and beckoned Gerard closer with the other hand. (Gerard came quickly enough but his eyes, if anything, got wider, which was puzzling. Spencer it filed away for future reflection.)

"Okay," Spencer said, once Gerard was settled against his side, his fingers, Spencer noted, wrapped tightly in the waistband of Spencer's pants, as if Spencer might need to be held back.

"You want one of you with us?" Spencer asked when she lowered the camera.

Gerard _and_ the girl looked at him like he'd started speaking Chinese, and then at each other. The girl bit her lip and Gerard shrugged one shoulder, almost apologetically, and beckoned her over with his free hand. Before Spencer could ask them what the fuck the problem was, she had corralled one of her friends to act as photographer and was moving to stand between them.

Spencer straightened his shoulders, narrowing his eyes against the flash, and attempted a smile. Meanwhile, Gerard and the girl seemed to be having an intense conversation about hamsters, of all things. Spencer flexed his fingers and sighed, and it came out a little louder and sulkier than he had intended. Gerard shot him a look that seemed almost relieved, and luckily the girl didn't seem to be upset either. Which, thank fuck for that, because that was all Spencer needed, headlines on fucking Buzznet about Bob Bryar being mean to My Chem fans. Christ.

"Good luck with everything," Gerard said, and the girl flushed pink.

"Thanks, you too," she whispered, and slipped away. 

"Okay," Gerard said slowly, tilting his head back and giving Spencer another sharp look, but whatever he had been going to say next was forestalled by his phone going off.

"Hello?" Gerard said into the receiver. "What? Who? Oh . . . uh-huh. What did you – okay, yeah – well, Bob and I are here, at the Starbucks? Yes, the – anyway, we just took some pictures with this girl, she has a dwarf hamster, two of them – no, not with her in the Starbucks, Ray – and Bob was really sweet, he asked her if she wanted extra pictures, like, actually with us."

Spencer scowled and hunched his shoulders forward, inexplicably embarrassed for the second time that morning. Gerard paused, and moved his hand as if he were smoking a cigarette.

"Yes . . . yes . . . what? Do you – okay, two chocolate chip muffins and a soy latte for Frank, got it. Okay – ten minutes, maybe? – yeah, okay," Gerard said, the end of the sentence crawling up into a nervous giggle, and hung up the phone.

"That was Ray," Gerard said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as they approached the counter. "Apparently he just got off the phone with someone who claimed to be Jon Walker from Panic at the Disco, who said he had a Bob Bryar on his bus, and wanted to know if we had a Spencer Smith in our possession."

"Oh?" Spencer managed, busy trying not to stagger and barely aware Gerard was ordering Spencer's drink as well as everyone else's. 

He fixed his eyes on the back of Gerard's head and tried to concentrate. Jon had called, not Pete, so maybe Ryan hadn't called Pete. And Jon had said they had Bob, so it had been a direct swap. But why hadn't Ryan called? Was he missing, too? Had they ( _oh god, oh god_ ) all swapped except for Jon? 

"He – thank you – thought that was kind of weird," Gerard said, before handing Spencer a cup, taking the other cup and the bag of muffins from the wide-eyed barista and heading towards the door. "Because, you know, it was kind of funny at first, good joke, or whatever, but Walker sounded really –" Gerard broke off and waved the bag of muffins in the air.

Spencer nodded, his stomach lazily rolling itself into a knot. It was not Jon's job to deal with band crises, it was Spencer's; more importantly, it was Spencer's job to not cause band crises. He took a sip of his coffee, and this time it was hot, bitter, and vile, and he spit it out on a nearby rosebush without stopping to think about it.

"Bob?" Gerard said and Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly he did not have the strength to say _I'm Spencer_ one more time.

"Too hot," he muttered instead, and Gerard made an understanding noise.

Gerard didn't say anything after that, just hummed softly to himself as they made their way up the street, and Spencer took advantage of the relative quiet to revise his plan. Clearly he had to talk to Jon, somehow, and Ryan, assuming Ryan was still there and not trapped in someone else's body. Talking to Jon meant finding a phone, any phone, and a quiet place to have a conversation –

Gerard cleared his throat, jolting Spencer out of his thoughts, and Spencer realized they were in front of the house again. 

"You know you can always, like, talk to me, right?" Gerard said, his voice low and urgent, his expression possibly a little angry underneath a lot of scared. "I mean, I might freak out a little bit, or whatever, but I – I'm better than I used to be, right? And if it's about me, or like, something I did, or – or something Mikey did – well then I definitely want to fucking know, motherfucker, because –"

"It's not about you," Spencer said quickly. "Or Mikey. Neither of you did anything, I mean, as far as I know, because I don't know who did do anything, just that I have to find some way to undo it, and quickly. I am not Bob, this is not my body, and I need to get _back_ to my body before soundcheck." 

Gerard's eyebrows descended into a puzzled frown and opened his mouth to say something, but then Spencer heard the low scrape of wood on wood. When Spencer looked towards the sound, Ray was standing in the doorway, watching them from the porch. He was wearing the baby again, and when his eyes landed on Spencer, he looked sort of sad and worried.

"Mikey and I cleaned the bus out, and I started the laundry," Ray said, shifting his gaze to Gerard. "Everyone else is at the grocery store."

"His latte is going to get cold," Gerard said not looking away from Spencer's face, his voice a little higher than it had been earlier. "Did you give him a list?"

"I gave Alicia all three lists," Ray said. "Also, your mom called. She talked to Mikey but she still wants you to call her, something about the PAC Center –"

"PAC – oh, okay," Gerard said, finally looking away, his shoulders rolling forward.

Gerard went in the house, and Ray looked at Spencer as if he expected him to come in as well; Spencer shook his head and sat down on steps, wincing at the pointedly quiet way Ray let the door close. After a minute Spencer set the cup of horrible coffee down on the step and curled forward so his head was resting on his knees. The steps were still a little cool under his hands, but the sun was warm, and there were birds chirping in the trees. He could smell fresh-mowed grass and something heavy and floral, something wet and green and completely unlike the desert. None of it distracted Spencer from the horrible feeling that he was going to be stuck this way forever, or the knowledge that he was officially completely out of his depth and had no idea how to fix it. 

He was focusing on taking deep breaths when the door opened again and a hand settled on his back and began rubbing in slow circles. Spencer jerked his head up, surprised, and found Mikey Way sitting next to him, a bottle of water in his lap, a couple of pills in the palm of his other hand. He was also a lot to deal with up close, but something about his expression made Spencer feel a little bit less wretched.

"Are they really mad at me?" Spencer asked, hoping he didn't sound as pathetic to Mikey as it did to himself. Mikey blinked at him, and the hand on Spencer's back went still, but didn't disappear.

"Ray and Gee?" Mikey asked, tilting his head towards the house. "No, they're not mad at you." 

Spencer ducked his head, trying to parse Mikey's inflections, and Mikey patted his back a couple of times, then eased away. Spencer put his hands back down on the step and waited. He realized he was trying to tap out his part of _Mad as Rabbits_ when his (Bob's) wrists protested. Spencer pulled his hands back up against his body and sighed.

"Oh, hey, Ray said it was time for you to take these, " Mikey said, decanting the pills into the hand Spencer hastily held out and handing Spencer the water bottle. "Also, we put the rest of your stuff in the guest room for right now. There's a band meeting later, and then we might watch a movie, but Frankie'll take you home afterwards."

Spencer nodded absently ( _band meeting, oh god_ ) and squinted at the pills in his hand. Two of them were Flintstones vitamins (one Betty and one Pebbles), but the third one was small and white, and he had no idea what it was for. He bit his lip and glanced up at Mikey, who was busy lighting a cigarette. 

"Sorry, Gerard got the last Bam-Bam," Mikey said, settling back on one elbow and stretching the other arm out briefly. Spencer stared at him, nonplussed. "You want a cigarette, dude?"

"No, thank you," Spencer said, smiling a little at Mikey's startled expression. "What's the other pill for?"

"I thought Gerard was yanking my chain, but no, you really did quit smoking," Mikey murmured as if Spencer hadn't spoken, his expression shifting from puzzled to rueful understanding. "Oh, dude, no wonder you're all fucked up. Okay –"

"Mikey, what is the white pill for?" Spencer tried again, opening and closing his fingers for added emphasis.

Mikey paused mid-drag and gave Spencer a long, searching look before gesturing at Spencer's wrists. 

"Is it going to fuck me up if I take it?" Spencer asked, and Mikey just blinked at him. 

Spencer decided he would take that as a yes, and slid the pill into the pocket of Bob's hoodie. He took the vitamins, though, and drank the water. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mikey was watching him, and his expression was surprisingly hawk-like.

"Do _you_ know where Bob keeps his phone?" Spencer asked when the silence had gotten kind of uncomfortable. "Because I need to call Jon, and – "

"You don't know where your phone is," Mikey interrupted, his tone suggesting it wasn't so much a question as a statement of facts. 

"No," Spencer said, the pounding behind his eyes increasing in intensity, his voice rising slightly. "I know exactly where _my_ phone is. _My_ phone is on my bus with my guys heading towards the venue where we – they – have to play, tonight. Assuming they didn't all get turned into other people, which is kind of a possibility right now." 

Spencer paused and tried to take a deep breath. His hands were shaking again and his chest felt tight and strange. _Calm,_ he reminded himself, _calm, professional._

"I know it's there because Bob is using it to send you fuckers text messages," Spencer continued, inhaling sharply as spasms of pain rolled through one hand, then the other. He never wanted to be old ever, seriously. "So if you could please just tell me where the fuck _Bob's_ phone is I'll call Jon back and tell him I'm not dead and find out where Ryan is, I mean, assuming Jon knows where Ryan is, because if he got traded too he could be anywhere – "

"All right," Mikey said softly, his expression shifting from hawk-like to smooth as glass, his fingers coming to rest, but barely, on Spencer's forearm. "Come on, let's go inside, okay?"

Spencer swallowed carefully and heaved himself upwards, staggering a little from the unfamiliar weight. Mikey caught his elbow easily and righted him, half-hugging him as he did so. Spencer fought the urge to lean into the bony, almost-familiar embrace, to just close his eyes and put his head down on Mikey's shoulder, just for a minute. _What the fuck is the matter with you?_ shrieked a voice in the back of his mind. _He's not Ryan, you don't even know this guy._

"We'll figure it out," Mikey said as they climbed the stairs, though it seemed to be mostly directed at himself. "Everything's going to be fine."

Spencer was not so sure about that, but he followed Mikey into the house anyway.

**

As it turned out, one of the bills in Spencer's pockets was a twenty; after a brief tussle with himself, Bob used it to buy a greasy egg and sausage sandwich, real coffee, and a couple of bags of candy. He had a feeling he was going to need peace offerings, and he hoped either the Gummi Bears, the Sour Patch Kids or the Reese's Pieces would do the trick.

The sandwich Bob ate immediately upon leaving the mini-mart. When he finished he went back and picked up two more, plus some hashbrowns and a bottle of soda. He had forgotten that being twenty meant being so hungry all the time. He went and sat on a nearby bench to eat the rest of the food and drink the coffee, sipping slowly and savoring it, even though it was kind of disgusting.

Afterwards Bob wiped his hands off on Spencer's jeans and pulled out Spencer's Sidekick; there were still no new texts from anyone Bob actually knew. He rolled the device back and forth in his hands, thinking, then tapped out four variations on _Still trpped in Smith's bdy, fckers, whr the fck r u? ps. G yr stll nt drnk._ When he was done he stood up and walked around the parking lot a couple of times, being sure to keep the bus in sight. After his second pass Bob noticed there was a picnic area and decided to see if he could get away with just hanging out there for the last ten minutes. It was nice out, he was pretty sure no-one had recognized him yet, and save for two people old enough to be his grandparents and a blonde girl drinking a Slurpee, the picnic area was deserted.

"Hey there, big boy," the girl said when Bob got close, throwing him a warm look over her sunglasses as she turned to face him. "So, tell me, do you come here often?"

Bob paused in the act of unscrewing the top of the bottle of soda to stare at her, and she grinned at him, her eyes crinkling up at the edges, her shoulders twitching with silent laughter. Bob grinned back at her; she was pretty, and, Bob could not help but notice, had very nice breasts. 

He got the cap off the soda and took a swig, watching her from behind his eyelashes as he did so, wondering if she knew who he – who Spencer – was; if she did, she was being really cool about it. Bob lowered the soda bottle, jammed his free hand in his pocket and tried not to notice the amused looks they were getting from the old people.

"So," Bob drawled, "what's your sign, beautiful?" and she was off again. Bob took another drink of soda and decided maybe being twenty for the day wasn't so bad after all. 

"Why don't you come and sit," she said when she recovered, patting the bench next to her. "You can –"

"For the honor of Greyskull!" Brendon shouted, and that was all the warning Bob got before Brendon landed on his back and wrapped his arm around Bob's neck.

Bob grunted and rocked forward with the impact, and for a split second considered dumping Brendon on his ass. The girl and the old people were watching, though, so Bob just sighed and held still while Brendon got settled. He wasn't much heavier than Frank, but he was longer, and also bonier.

"Is it that time already?" the girl asked, her face settling into sober lines, and Bob blinked a couple of times.

"Sam has announced last call for pork rinds," Brendon said solemnly. The girl pulled a face as she stood up.

"Don't forget we're schooling your asses at hacky-sack in two hours," she said as she walked past them in the direction of the buses. Bob felt one of Brendon's knees dig into his ribs, trying to turn Spencer to follow her. 

Bob _hmphed_ at him and locked his knees, because he wasn't a fucking horse. Brendon curled closer, and sighed into Bob's shoulder. The old people turned away. Bob reached back with one hand, trying to get a grip on Brendon in order pull him off.

"Turn around and walk towards the bus," Brendon said, in a sharp, unexpected tone that made Bob drop his hand and start moving automatically. "Good. Now listen to me, because Zack is totally ready to tranq you and go to the hospital." 

"What?" Bob said, and stopped. It was really difficult having a conversation with someone who was clinging your back. "Tranq me? With what? And what the fuck for?"

Brendon made an irritated noise and bonked his head off of Bob's shoulder.

"Spencer –"

"Bob."

"Bob, fine, whatever," Brendon said, squeezing his knees together again. Bob reluctantly started walking. "He has – stuff – in the first aid kit, I don't know. Also, um –" he paused, and Bob felt his fingers tap on Bob's shoulder. "You have four inches and, bare minimum, fifty pounds on everyone but him. We're trapped on a bus, and you seem to have gone insane."

Bob stopped walking to let that thought that sink in.

"And yet you decided now was a good time to come and jump on me while I was talking to a hot chick," Bob said, and Brendon squeezed him forward again.

"Spencer has a girlfriend, and the hot chick is Greta, who you – who Spencer – regards as a third baby sister, and I could see you scoping her out from the other side of the parking lot. Also, you didn't hit Ryan this morning, I was pretty sure you weren't going to deck me." Brendon paused and flexed the muscle in his arm that was lying across Bob's throat in a way that might have been thoughtful, but Bob was pretty sure meant _don't think I won't drop you if I have to._

"Anyway, Ryan doesn't do well in hospitals, so here's the plan: when we get inside, we're calling your guys again, only this time you're going to talk to them," Brendon said, leaning around Bob's shoulder to push the code into the touchpad on the side of the bus. "And –"

"The fuck, Smith?" Zack said when the door opened, looming over them suddenly, his voice low and tight.

Bob had spent enough time around harried tour managers and/or security dudes to recognize the set of Zack's shoulders. They were saying _I can't hit you, but I sure would like to._ His face was oddly relaxed and friendly, almost amused, but there was anger and little fear in his eyes. 

"Look, dude, I'm Bob Bryar, and I just got here today," Bob said. "I'm not fucking with your boys on purpose, man. Believe me, I want out of this body as much as they want Spencer back. Now let me in so I get on that, okay?"

Zack's eyes widened slightly, and Bob saw his gaze move from Bob's face to Brendon and back again, his fingers curling and uncurling against the palms of his hands. The anger in Zack's expression was receding a little, but the alarm had ratcheted up a few notches. _I'll buy you a bottle of whiskey too,_ Bob thought, winding the plastic handles of his bag full treats around his fingers and climbing the stairs, being careful not to run Brendon into anything.

When he turned to look at the lounge, Ryan and Jon were sitting on one of the benches, and two guys wearing black hoodies (one had crazy hair, the other one didn't) were sitting on the other one. Ryan was curled into Jon's side, but the expressions on the rest of their faces suggested that they had probably just been talking about Bob, or rather, about Spencer. Brendon dismounted with a showy little wave of his hands and went to sit next to Jon.

"Hi," Bob said, suddenly not sure he'd have enough peace offerings to go around, and stepped out of the flip-flops.

"Hey, Spencer," said one of the dudes in black hoodies, and Bob suppressed a sigh. _Right._

"Bob Bryar, actually, but I'm just visiting temporarily," he said, stretching his toes out in the rug. "Who are all of you people?"

Crazy Hair's eyes widened a fraction as the silence in the room grew slightly louder and heavier. Bob heard Zack coming up the steps, and wondered if he was about to be tranq'd. Zack stopped in the kitchen, though, arms crossed over his chest, and glared at them. Bob wondered for a moment if he was their Brian as well as their Worm (and if not, who was their Brian?) and then decided to ignore him in favor of pulling the bag of Reese's Piece's open. Jon took a handful when Bob tilted the bag towards him, but none of the others seemed interested.

"You don't recognize any of us," said Normal Hair, his voice flat with disbelief, and Bob shrugged one shoulder.

"I can tell you're not, like, civilians, dude, but . . ." Bob trailed off, trying to remember if he maybe he had met any of them before at Warped or an awards show or something. But no, there was nothing doing. He shook his head and made an apologetic face.

"I'm Justin, from Motion City Soundtrack," said Crazy Hair, and Bob nodded, vaguely certain he'd seen that name on Ray's iPod as well.

Normal Hair crossed his arms over his chest and glared, then muttered "Sam, Phantom Planet." 

"Nice to meet you all," Bob murmured, and promptly forgot their names. "So, Jon, I hear I'm supposed to call my guys?" 

"Ray wouldn't tell me whether or not they have Spencer," Jon said. "He just kind of talked a lot about the stresses of touring affecting people in weird ways and it being important to be gentle with yourselves and each other, and know when it's time to take breaks."

"Sounds like Toro," Bob sighed, and tugged Spencer's Sidekick out of his pocket.

"He told me Pete probably knows someone who could, you know, help us out," Jon continued. "Which – I probably should have called Pete first. I mean –"

"You still can do that, you know," Normal Hair said sharply.

"Wouldn't want to disturb the man on his honeymoon if we don't have to," Bob said with deliberate mildness, giving the guy a look that Bob hoped conveyed _give the kid a break, asshole._

"That's not until next weekend," Ryan whispered, uncurling a little, and Bob saw Brendon's fingers slide up to Jon's neck and rub gently.

Bob _hmm_ 'd at them, then flipped the phone open and dialed Gerard's number. It rang twice before Gerard picked up, and Bob could tell from the silence that greeted him that Gerard was somewhere between annoyed and totally freaked out. Bob really could not blame Gerard for that at all, though it was tempting. 

"Motherfucker," Bob said mildly, knowing Gerard's eyes were going wide on the other end. "You fucking believe in _unicorns_ , but not this?"

Gerard made a spluttering noise, and Bob closed his eyes while he pinched the bridge of his ( _Spencer's_ ) nose between his fingers.

"What's my Polyjuice question, Gerard?" he asked, and someone further down the bus made a small startled noise. Bob opened one eye and glared at everyone he could see. "Shut up, like you fuckers haven't had to have that conversation, too. Fucking Frankie and his –"

"Prom," Gerard said, sounding only a little bit breathless and slightly tinny, as if he had switched the phone to speaker. "What happened on the morning of your prom that made a dramatic difference in your plan for the evening?"

"My damned date woke up with the motherfucking chickenpox," Bob said, and saw Brendon's face twitch as if he were fighting a laugh. Gerard, on the other hand, sounded like a he might be on the edge of hyperventilating. "Do you have me on speaker? Can Ray hear this?"

"Yes," Gerard said, and Bob heard some clanking, and a muffled voice that might have been Mikey. "Yes, but how –"

"Lucky guess," Bob said, even though it wasn't, and longed for a cigarette. "Now let Ray or Mikey ask me the back-up question, Gerard."

There was some more clanking, a couple bursts of static, and Bob quite distinctly heard Mikey say _give Ray the motherfucking phone, douchebag._

"On The Used's most recent tour," Ray said, only squeaking a little, and the knot in Bob's stomach unraveled all at once. "Where did Jepha keep his emergency back-up grown-up clothes?"

"Inside Dan's kick drum, which got locked into the tech bus after every show," Bob replied, and for a moment all he could hear was Ray breathing.

" _Bob?_ It's . . . you're with Panic at the Disco?" Ray said, sounding sort of baffled, and Bob hauled off and kissed Spencer's phone, he was so relieved.

" _Yes_ , Ray, you asshole," Bob said, raising his eyes when he felt a hand brush over his wrists. Jon was standing in front of him, eyes wide and dark, mouthing . . . _oh, right, of course_. "Is Spencer with you? Can you put him on the phone?"

"I – " Ray paused, and Bob had barely managed to put the phone on speaker when his own voice came out of it. He was so startled to hear himself it took him a moment to absorb what he ( _Spencer_ ) was actually saying.

"Ryan? Jon? JON! Can you – JON!" Spencer was also starting to sound a little hysterical, and Bob didn't protest when Jon grabbed the phone out of his hand and started walking towards the back of the bus while talking into it, Ryan and Brendon hot on his heels.

Everyone else on the bus, he realized, was staring at him as if he had actually busted out a wand and turned a rat into a teacup. Or at least nearly everyone; Crazy Hair ( _Jerome? Jared?_ ) looked like his birthday might have come a little bit early.

"Okay," Zack said, drawing the word out as he moved closer to Bob, his fingers curling in and out of fists. "So, you're Bob, and Spencer is – where, exactly? How the fuck do we get him here?"

"He's in Jersey," Bob said, as Brendon re-emerged from the bunks and walked towards Bob, trailing Ryan and Jon. "They're at Frank's, so –"

"Ray wants to talk to you," Brendon interrupted, holding out the phone, relief and amusement both visible on his face.

"I'm fine," Bob said after he took it, hoping to head a Ray-interrogation off at the pass. "I'm eating real food and no-one's Chihuahua has tried to use me as a chew toy. Now put the kids in the car and come up here and get me."

"But –okay – wait, where is _here_?" Ray said. Bob heard himself talking again (that was never going to not be weird) and then Ray coughed a little and sighed. "Spencer says you should be in Connecticut?"

"Connecticut?" Bob asked, tucking the phone under his jaw, and Jon nodded.

"I'll give him directions," Zack said from behind him in a tone that suggested an argument would result in a broken nose, and Bob handed over the phone.

**

"Okay," Ray said, turning around to look at the back seat. "Are we ready? Do we have everything? Who has the snacks?"

Frank shifted around in the seat next to Spencer, and held up a bag of wasabi peas. In the front seat, Mikey waved a bag of Doritos over his head. Spencer wriggled down as much as he could and closed his eyes. Then Gerard started humming under his breath. Spencer replayed his conversation with Jon in his head as a way to calm down.

_We're fine, Spencer,_ was the first thing Jon had said, his voice gentle and steady. _Confused, sure, and maybe a little freaked out – okay, maybe a lot freaked out, because, trading bodies? Seriously? That doesn't fucking happen, dude. But we're okay. Are you okay?_

_I'm fine,_ Spencer had said, clutching the phone to his ear and trying to absorb Jon's calm through the airwaves while simultaneously trying to not let on that he did not believe Jon for a minute and also that he was not okay. He had the distinct feeling Jon was not fooled, but – being Jon – was cool enough to not call him out. Instead he said _Ryan wants to talk to you, okay?_ and hand the phone over without waiting for an answer.

_Spencer?_ Ryan had said, his voice almost too low to be heard, and the knot in Spencer's stomach had pulled that much tighter. _Where does your father keep his Penthouses?_

_You know he only has Playboys,_ Spencer had said, smiling in spite of himself, remembering the day they had found the damn things. _And they're in the garage, under the extra paint for the girls' room._

Ryan had made a small noise, not quite a gasp, and said _Spencer_ again, but more firmly. _Yes,_ Spencer had said, pressing the fingers of his free hand against the base of this throat in an attempt to contain his hammering pulse with brute force. _It's me, I promise. I'm so sorry, I -_

_It's okay,_ Ryan had said, _shhh, shhh, it's okay. Brendon, what –_ Spencer had heard sounds of a scuffle, and then Brendon had said _Shut up, Ross, Bob got two questions – Spencer, what thing did I buy off eBay right before we left for our first headlining tour?_

_The Nirvana t-shirt with the seahorse babies,_ Spencer had said, moving his fingers up to his eyes. He did not add, _And when you sleep in it, that means you're homesick and I have to keep an eye on you._ There was a brief silence and then Brendon had started burbling at him. _Are you okay? Does it feel weird? How are you going to change back?_ The _I don't fucking know, okay,_ was barely out of Spencer's mouth when he had felt a hand settle on his shoulder and squeeze gently. 

When he had looked up, he had found Ray regarding him carefully, biting his lip, and it had occurred to Spencer that he had snatched the phone away from Ray kind of quickly, and that Ray probably wanted to talk to Bob for longer than five seconds. _Sorry,_ he had mouthed at Ray. _Brendon,_ he had said into the phone, his voice as firm as he could make it, _Brendon, give the phone back to Bob, okay? Ray needs to talk to him._

"iPod?" Gerard asked from the other side of Spencer, doing something that made him jam a pointy elbow into Spencer's ribs. 

Spencer sat up and opened his eyes in time to see Mikey lift something black off the front seat and wave it in the air.

"Directions to the venue?" Spencer said, because that was what was actually important here.

Frank snorted, and Mikey held up a piece of paper covered in Ray's neat, loopy writing. Spencer let his head fall back against the seat again and shifted around trying to find a position that didn't make his knees ache.

"Brian is going to meet us there, and we'll stop for coffee in an hour," Ray said, looking right at Gerard. "Meanwhile, everyone has their keys, their phone and has been to the bathroom?" 

_Are you serious?_ Spencer thought as Ray turned around to face the front, but he noticed Ray didn't start the car until he'd gotten a _Yes, Mom_ from all of the guys. Spencer just sort of waved at him, mainly because not even Frank had been able to find Bob's phone. 

Spencer made himself keep his eyes open for a while, just to make sure Mikey was actually following Zack's directions and they were going the right way, but eventually he drifted off, lulled by the movement of the car and Frank and Gerard having a whispered argument about Superman. 

When he woke up again, it was because the car had stopped. Frank was asleep on one of Spencer's shoulders, and Gerard had crashed out on the other. Mikey was curled over the iPod in the front seat, but Ray seemed to have disappeared. Spencer looked around carefully, noting that they seemed to be in a parking lot, and oh, yes, there was his bus. Spencer worked a hand free to rub at his face and tried to sit up, wondering what had happened to coffee time. He had a feeling between dealing with his still throbbing headache and peeling his band off the ceiling, he was going to need some serious caffeine. 

"You slept through coffee," Mikey said, twisting around and handing Spencer a cup, and Spencer wondered if he had said that last part out loud. "We got you some, though. With milk and sugar this time – Gerard called Jon and asked how you like it."

"Thanks," Spencer said, and took a careful sip, then another, trying not to burn his tongue.

"Ray and Brian are talking to Zack, so we can get inside without, you know, causing a stampede," Mikey continued, his mouth twisting up into a faint smile.

Spencer _hmm_ 'd in agreement and drank some more coffee, savoring every milky sweet mouthful. A minute or two later Mikey's phone rang, and ten minutes after that, Ray was herding them all through one of the stage doors, towards the familiar clatter of soundcheck.

Well, the mostly familiar clatter of soundcheck; apparently Spencer's day could get worse, because someone that was not him was playing the hell out of _Moby Dick_ on Spencer's drums. From the sound of things, Spencer's traitorous bandmates had joined in as well, or at least two of them had; he could hear the bass, but only one guitar.

The guitar dropped out and the drums picked up speed; Spencer frowned and walked faster, his sense of the wrongness of the whole situation increasing with each step he took. He was almost to the stage door when he felt a hand on his elbow, stopping him and pulling him back at the same time. He turned, the _What the fuck?_ already forming in his mouth, and was met with Gerard giving him a startlingly fierce look and motioning at him to be quiet.

"He hasn't been able to play like that for a while," Ray murmured, sounding sort of apologetic. Spencer refused to be mollified, and tried wrenching his arm away from Gerard.

"Shhh, if he sees us he'll stop," Mikey whispered, grabbing hold of Spencer's other arm, effectively preventing his escape.

_Isn't that kind of the idea?_ Spencer thought, turning as much of his body towards the stage door as he could. _He stops, we swap back, I play the show like I'm supposed to –_

The guitar line changed, dropped, changed again, and finally stopped altogether, leaving only the drums. Ray made a small, startled noise of (possibly) pleased recognition, and when Spencer looked over Mikey was grinning broadly and Frank was _headbanging._ After a minute the tune shifted; when Spencer heard the opening notes of _All Apologies_ he decided enough was enough. Indulging Bob was one thing, but Brendon would play Nirvana all afternoon if left unattended. 

He wriggled away from Mikey and Gerard and yanked the door open. Brendon launched into the bridge and Spencer stomped towards the stage, his pace gradually slowing in the face of the novelty of being able to watch Brendon and Jon play from the front. Spencer couldn't find Ryan anywhere, at first, but just when he thought his stomach might actually come out of his nose he saw of a familiar narrow, hunched figure sitting in the aisle between the two rows of seats in front of the stage. Then Spencer got a good look at – himself – behind the kit and the room began to spin.

"Woah, dude, no passing out, you're a bitch to lift." Mikey's hand was warm on his back, but his voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. Spencer grabbed for the back of the nearest seat and did his best to obey.

The music stopped abruptly, and when Spencer raised his head, he found Ryan standing a in front of him, looking sort of . . . bewildered and nervous, Spencer decided, as if he were facing a wild animal and wasn't sure whether or not it would bite. Which was better than Spencer had expected -- he had been braced for enraged -- but also intensified the ache in his stomach, because Ryan hadn't looked at him like that since Spencer was five. Jon, who was still wearing his guitar, had one hand curled loosely around Ryan's right wrist, thumb moving slowly over his pulse point, and Brendon was holding the other one. 

There were more people hovering in the background; Spencer could see Zack, clearly carefully blank-faced, standing next to a tiny, dark haired dude covered in tattoos ( _Brian?_ ), who was wearing a long-suffering expression. Beside them, Greta looked sort of amused and sort of exhausted, and Justin and Sam were standing next to her, their heads cocked to one side. Spencer's own body ( _Bob_ ) was still on the stage, looking down at all of them, smiling broadly, arms loose at it's ( _his?_ ) side. 

"Took you assholes long enough," Bob said, not sounding that angry; his grin broadened when Gerard made an outraged noise. "You better not have fucked up my body, Smith."

"What, you mean more than it already is?" Spencer said, a surge of irritation restoring his equilibrium. "More like _you_ had better not have fucked up _my_ body, Bryar. I'd like to be able to _use_ my wrists when I'm old – "

"So does one of you need to, like, close your eyes and wiggle your nose?" Frank cut in, and Spencer heard someone snort. 

"Did anyone try Finite Incantatem?" Justin asked, sounding both thoughtful and a little bit sarcastic.

Spencer felt more than heard everyone in the room inhale, and held very still. Thirty seconds later, still in Bob's body, Spencer forced himself to unclench his fists and think. There had to be a way to get back into his own body.

"You could – click your heels three times?" Sam offered, chewing on his lip. "Though if you end up in Kansas, we're really screwed."

"No," Gerard said, absently, like he was thinking. "No, that won't work, it's not that kind of story –"

At that, everyone in the room started talking, and Spencer pressed his fingers against his eyes and struggled to breathe past the sudden agonizing tightness in his chest. After a minute he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder and then another one rubbing against the back of his neck and his face, and forced his eyes open. Ryan was a lot closer to Spencer than he had been before, and his expression had shifted into concern.

"Hi," Spencer said, wincing a little as his voice wobbled. "I didn't mean to do this, I swear –" 

"Shut up," Ryan said, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Spencer, pulling him down against his body. 

The angle was all wrong and Ryan felt even bonier than usual, but Spencer didn't care, he rested his head on Ryan's shoulder and wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist and held on. They stood like that for a minute or two, Ryan rubbing Spencer's back and murmuring comforting nonsense into Spencer's ear while Spencer listened to everyone else have a heated discussion about the mechanics of magic on _I Dream of Jeannie_ and _Bewitched._ Then Spencer felt a hand settle on his back. 

When he looked up he found Jon (guitar-less, finally) standing next to him, and Brendon a few paces away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Spencer eased back, unwilling to completely let go of Ryan, and pulled Jon in against his chest with one arm. He felt both larger than usual and oddly small and twitchy, but he smelled like he was supposed to smell, like Old Spice and the bus and perhaps an undertone of pot, and that helped Spencer to breathe, too. When Spencer raised his head again a few moments later, Brendon was still shifting in place, and Zack and the tiny tattooed guy were giving them all narrow, considering looks.

"C'mere, Bden, it's okay," Ryan said, beckoning with his free arm, and Spencer remembered Brendon was skittish with strangers.

"It really is me in here, Brendon," Spencer said, rubbing Jon's back gently, and Jon shifted over towards Spencer's other shoulder, leaving a pocket of space behind him.

"Not for long it isn't," Bob said, his ( _Spencer's_ ) voice crackling through a stage mic making them all jump. "Right, so we're all in agreement over here –"

"Since we are bound and determined to pretend that no-one has had a psychotic break and needs to go to the hospital right now," Sam broke in.

" - and we're going to go with the _Freaky Friday_ model," Bob continued, apparently unruffled. "What were you thinking about when you went to sleep yesterday?"

Spencer blinked at him, trying to summon hazy memories. Ryan and Brendon both flushed pink. Ryan dropped his arms and turned around, and Jon shifted around as well, his back still pressed against Spencer. Spencer didn't have to look down to know he was wearing a puzzled frown.

"I wasn't – I wasn't thinking about anything," Spencer said. "I was tired and I didn't feel well because we were in traffic, and – _oh_ -"

Ryan and Brendon both looked at the floor, shoulders hunched. Jon made a noise in the back of his throat that was half inquisitive and half scolding. 

"Oh?" Bob repeated, in a tone that was probably meant to be encouraging. Spencer wondered briefly if his voice always sounded like that or if Bob had special powers of making everything sound menacing.

"I wanted to sleep on something that wasn't moving," Spencer said, straightening up and stepping around the rest of his band on his way to the stage to grab what was (probably) Brendon's mostly full beer. "And I wanted to be old enough to buy what I needed to do _this_."

He tipped the bottle over Brendon's head just long enough to get his hair wet, then set it back on the stage. Brendon's expression flashed from vaguely embarrassed to pissed off and back again, and Spencer was sure he saw relief in Ryan's eyes for a moment.

"Oh my god," Gerard muttered. When Frank started giggling into his hands, Spencer decided he didn't dare look at anyone he had to actually work with and/or sleep next to for the next couple of months. 

"What about you?" Spencer asked, pulling Brendon to him to kiss the top of his head in apology and sop up some of the beer with his ( _Bob's_ ) sleeve. "What did you want to do?" 

"Play the drums and have it not hurt." Bob crossed his arms over his chest, and suddenly Spencer understood what Ryan was talking about when he said Spencer had a killer bitch-face. 

"All right, so now you have to – what, sleep again?" Ray said into the uneasy silence that followed. "Will a nap work, or does it have to be a full night?"

"We could try napping," Bob said, and Spencer almost giggled, watching his own face settling into a slightly irritated expression as Bob noticed that Brendon rubbing his hair dry on Spencer's chest. 

"Is there anything to actually sleep on in here?" Mikey asked. "Because –"

"There's couches in the green room," Zack cut in, easing past Greta. "Two of them." 

"Alrighty then," Bob said, hopping down off the stage. "C'mon Spencer, let's go the green room."

"We're all going," Ryan said, curling his fingers around Spencer's left hand and tugging him away and out the door, Jon, Brendon and the others trailing in their wake.

**

"I'm staying," Gerard said, as Bob settled down against the cushions.

"But you'll keep him awake," Mikey said, and Bob thought he detected a hint of whine.

Bob let them argue about it for a while, kicking at the slightly whiffy blankets that Crazy Hair had produced from one of the busses and shifting the pillows around until he was content with the nest he had made for himself. Across the room, Spencer seemed to be doing the same thing – or, more accurately, Ryan was fussing around doing it for him. The other two were sitting on the floor, playing one guitar between them, and apparently conducting some sort of sing-along.

"Who wants to sing me a song?" Bob asked, when became clear Ray was too involved in his conversation with Brian and Zack to prevent Frankie from getting dragged into Mikey and Gerard's argument. 

"We didn't bring our guitars," Mikey said, sounding sort of surprised, like he would normally think to bring his bass on a roadtrip, and Bob gave him a steady look. 

"What do you want?" Gerard asked, dropping neatly to the floor by Bob's head, looking happier than he had since they first arrived. "I could try some Tom –"

"Pogues," Frank cut in, and they all turned to look at him. "Puts him out every time."

"What? How - " Bob began, but then Gerard launched into the first verse of _Fairytale of New York,_ with Frank and Mikey right behind him, and Bob had no choice but to settle down on the pillows and close his eyes; he was asleep by the time they were halfway through _Dirty Old Town_.

**

"Brendon," Spencer said, when Ryan finally stopped fiddling with the blankets and sat down on the edge of the couch. "I heard that chord. Play _Colors of the Wind_ and _die_ , motherfucker."

"But –" Brendon began, and whatever he had been going to say ended in an injured squeak. Spencer suspected Ryan had kicked him.

Jon made a thoughtful noise in his throat, and the next thing Spencer heard was the opening bars of _Stairway to Heaven_. He sighed into his pillow, but didn't tell them to stop. It was soothing, and with his eyes closed and Ryan's hand on his shoulder, Spencer could almost pretend that they were humoring him while he was ill, or something else completely normal. 

"Sleep, Spencer," Ryan said, and Spencer obediently let the music pull him under.

**

One town over, a streetlight flickered and burned out, and several geese flapped up into formation from the bank of a pond. A couple of people made wrong turns in shopping malls; one of them went to the hardware store when he had meant to go to the nursery, but the other one got to the craft store just fine. And, at the back of a pawn store, a battered old Gibson played the first three bars of _Paradise by the Dashboard Light._ The clerk, who was alone in the shop, sold it to the next person who came in, not bothering to tell them he was pretty sure it was possessed.

**

Bob woke up slowly, counting his aches as he drifted; when he was sure they were all present and accounted for, he opened his eyes. For the second time that day, he found himself practically nose to nose with Brendon Urie.

"Nnnargh, fuck _off_ ," Bob said, and Brendon rocked backwards, his eyes going wide. He landed with an audible _thump_ , but that didn't wake Ryan and Jon, who had apparently fallen asleep on the floor next to him.

Bob sat up slowly, gave himself a gentle shake, and ran a hand through hair that was, in fact, his own hair. He could see Brian and all of his guys on the other side of the room: Frank seemed to be dozing on Ray, who was watching Spencer; Mikey and Brian were both busy with their Sidekicks, and someone had found Gerard some pens and paper.

"Spencer?" Brendon asked, and Bob shook his head, suddenly aware he was nearly vibrating with the need for a cigarette.

"Gerard," Bob called out, grinning when they all spun around to look at him. "You got any smokes?"

"Jesus H. Christ on a motherfucking cracker. Get over here right now, Bryar," Brian said, and Bob did as he was told.

**

 Spencer woke up to the faint _snick snick_ of cards and the sound of Brendon and Ryan hissing at each other. He could also hear Jon wuffling sleepily somewhere nearby, probably on the floor. Spencer lay still for a minute, enjoying every inch of him that didn't throb or ache, then opened his eyes.

"Spencer?" Brendon said, and Spencer nodded as he pushed himself upright.

"M'back," Spencer said, rubbing his face. "Where's –"

The rest of his thought got lost as both Ryan and Brendon surged up into his lap in a storm of bony knees and elbows. When they were finally settled on either side of him, Spencer woke Jon with a strategic (but gentle) toe to the ribs.

"You're home?" Jon asked as he unfurled himself and rolled up face Spencer, curling his hands around Spencer's knees. Spencer nodded at him. "How do you feel?"

Spencer yawned and made a face, his brain still fuzzy from the nap. He could see the tiny tattooed guy and Zack talking on the other side of the room, but MCR seemed to have vanished. Ryan poked him in the stomach and Spencer gently smacked him in the back of the head. Jon just grinned at them and squeezed Spencer's knee.

"Hungry," Spencer said, and yawned. "My Chem left already?"

"Went to get pizza and coffee," Jon said, his grin widening. "Ray said to tell you that pesto on pizza is gross, but I think Frank wanted to try it."

Ryan snorted into Spencer's shoulder and Spencer turned his head to press his nose into the top of Ryan's head. Ryan burrowed closer but was silent, and Spencer patted his rib awkwardly, not sure what to say. Then the door to the green room popped open and Ray Toro walked in holding four large flat boxes, trailing the rest of MCR. 

"Dinner!" Brendon exclaimed and bounced off the couch. Jon gave Spencer's knee a final squeeze and stood up; Ryan stayed until Bob came and loomed over them, two plates of pizza in his hand.

"You all right?" Bob asked, and Spencer nodded as he took his plate of pizza. He didn't know what to say to Bob, either. Somehow _I'm sorry_ didn't seem like quite enough.

"Brian still wants us to go to the hospital," Bob said when they had both gotten through their first piece of pizza. He sounded about as excited by the idea as Spencer felt.

"Sorry," Spencer said, as Bob picked up another slice of pizza. "I really am, I didn't –"

"'sokay, dude," Bob murmured. "It was kind of weird, but, you know, shit happens. I didn't get set on fire this time, it's fine. Did you do anything I need to know about?"

"I, uh, let a fan take your picture?" Spencer offered, remembering how much it had freaked Gerard out. "I was out with Gerard and, well - "

"Yeah," Bob said, and Spencer thought he might have heard a chuckle in there somewhere. "I, ah –" Bob paused and ducked his head. "I maybe talked to Greta a little."

Spencer squinted at him, trying to figure out how talking was a problem, Spencer talked to Greta every day, and then he saw the faint pink tinge to Bob's face and it all fell into place. 

"Oh," Spencer said, wondering if his eyes were as wide as they felt. "You didn't –"

"No," Bob said, and coughed low in his throat. "Brendon got all She-Ra on me."

"Brendon – what? She-Ra?" Spencer said, but he was laughing by the time Bob got to the end of the story.


End file.
